


better than spy films

by dalyeau



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, bokukuros being their usual bokukuros selves, mentions of kuroken and others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalyeau/pseuds/dalyeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi knocks Bokuto out and Bokuto falls in love. Kuroo laughs about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	better than spy films

**Author's Note:**

> 10000% based on [this](http://captainsback.tumblr.com/post/99596506198/) like literally all of the credit goes to this person, i just wrote the words.

 

It starts like this: Bokuto is hungry (his paycheck ran out two days ago and the only things in his fridge are a half-full can of tomato sauce and some suspiciously pale-green lump that Bokuto's sure has been there for at least two months) and he remembers that Kuroo always, _always_ has some leftover pizza in the microwave for emergencies. Bokuto puts on his jacket, his beanie, and gets on his way.

The promise of food in a not-so-distant future has him salivating as he opens Kuroo's front door with the spare key he's not so sure Kuroo knows the existence of, and Bokuto heads straight for the kitchen after a quick scan reveals that his friend is out. Probably with Kenma or Lev. Bokuto is grinning as he finds the promised pizza in the microwave.

While he waits for the two minutes of heating to be over, he practically inserts himself inside the fridge, looking around in awe. When the fuck did Kuroo learn how to properly do his grocery shopping? There's meat and fruits and vegetables and beans, water and Gatorade, eggs and three different types of cheese, and a shitload of containers with only God knows how much more. Bokuto doesn't even know how to choose.

When he turns around with his sidedish of choice (cold potatoes and a carrot) he nearly drops all his newly acquired goods. Some guy -who is definitely _not_ Kuroo- is looking back at him with a steady gaze, standing there in his slippers and what seems a lot like pajama bottoms.

“You're not Kuroo,” Bokuto says stupidly, and the microwave _ping_ s as his pizza is done and ready.

Bokuto only sees a very determined expression and a hand flying towards him before he's out.

 

 

 

  

 

 

“Don't worry about it,” he hears Kuroo say. “His fault for not telling me.”

“I'm not worried.”

The other voice is nice. Bokuto is curious so he opens his eyes and tries not to wince when his head does the thing where it seems to be pounding.

He's on Kuroo's couch, that much he can tell, and Kuroo is leaning against the wall and grinning in that way that unsettles so many people. There's someone else too, Bokuto's brain processes in between all that annoying aching, someone with dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes that look at him without a hint of remorse. Bokuto narrows his eyes and sits up.

“You knocked me out!” he accuses, and he remembers that filters are a thing that exist and this is not the time to ask Kuroo when the hell did he get the hottest flatmate in Japan.

“You were stealing my food,” the guy says calmly. “And you broke into my apartment.”

“What.” Bokuto is indignant. “I have a _key_.”

Now it's time for Kuroo to narrow his eyes. “Yeah, about that.”

“Sorry for punching your friend.” The hot flatmate walks right past Bokuto and Kuroo and disappears into the room that used to belong to Yaku.

“That guy,” Bokuto says, feeling a bit breathless. “There's a mean punch if I've ever gotten one.”

“He used to be a setter,” Kuroo says, like that explains it perfectly. Which it kind of does. No wonder his timing and aim had been perfect.

“He plays volleyball?”

“He did in high school. Now he's into cycling.”

Bokuto stares at the closed door. “Who is he? And when the hell did you get the hottest roommate in Japan?”

“Oho? Already crushing?” Kuroo half-heartedly slaps his head. “Akaashi Keiji, and you're not going to fuck him, he's a pretty decent flatmate and I don't need you _corrupting_ him.”

Bokuto can feel his whole expression fall.

“Ah, crap. Are you guys like, a thing?” He thought Kuroo was still into Kenma. Shame.

“You're so embarrassing,” Kuroo says with a smirk, slapping him once more on the forehead for good measure and ducking when Bokuto tries to return it. Then he heads towards the kitchen. “Seriously. No fucking,” he repeats, coming back to the couch with two slices of pizza on a plate. “Here.”

Kuroo is kind of awesome, Bokuto is pleased to admit as he munches on the pizza.

He wonders if the owls on Akaashi's slippers were just his imagination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The owls were not his imagination.

Bokuto learns that Akaashi rather likes owls; he owned one as a pet when he was a kid, and the only time Bokuto sees him anywhere close to blushing is when he asks what was its name and Akaashi refuses to tell him for an hour before admitting _Feathers_ in a low voice.

He also learns other things about Akaashi: that he enjoys cooking and eating healthy, he bikes anywhere that is in a two hour ride distance, and he likes those creepy american procedural shows nearly as much as Bokuto likes spy movies. And Bokuto really loves spy movies.

Kuroo says more than once that he didn't realise he was getting two flatmates for the price of one, and yeah, maybe Bokuto has been spending more and more and _more_ time there lately, but Kuroo's his best friend and what's friendship if not usurping Kuroo's place whenever he's feeling bored? It's not like Kuroo is there a lot anyway, what with his job and the ten trillion parties he gets invited to (and mostly rejects in favour of hanging out with Kenma because Kuroo definitely loves that kid more than Bokuto loves spy movies, and Bokuto _really_ loves spy movies.)

Akaashi doesn't seem to get invited to any parties, but Bokuto has the feeling that even if he did he'd just stay in his room watching Criminal Minds, or go bike around the park even though cycling at night is probably not the best idea. He's quiet, doesn't smile much if at all, and Bokuto can see how that can come across as intimidating, although that's the last word he'd use to describe Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi with his owl slippers and wrinkled nose when his dinner doesn't turn out as well as he was hoping and the way his toes curl into the couch as he sits with his knees up and listens to Bokuto talk about his day and his classes and volleyball.

“Do you want to play with me and my team sometime?” Bokuto asks one day, wondering if he looks as hopeful as he sounds.

It's nothing great, just him and his old team from highschool meeting up once or twice a week to play friendly matches and feel a bit like they're sixteen again and not dead inside because college is the worst, but he fully expects Akaashi to turn him down anyway, say something about how he has to study or bike somewhere or cook some interesting recipe he saw online. He does not expect Akaashi to shrug one shoulder in a way so attractive it has Bokuto nearly sweating, and say, “Alright. Tell me when.”

Bokuto beams so hard that he feels his entire face hot and flushed with excitement. “Right! Alright! Next friday, I'll take you there. You can toss for me and we're gonna be amazing. We're gonna be _awesome_ , Akaashi.”

They watch a spy movie next, which Akaashi abandons halfway through to go to sleep, and it's not until Bokuto is brushing his teeth in his own apartment that he realises he doesn't remember a single thing about the movie, only the curve of Akaashi's eyelashes in the darkness and the sharp angle of his wrist bones, the straight line of his jaw and the mole on his neck, right next to his pulse.

 

  

 

 

 

 

Bokuto hits Akaashi's toss, and the first thing to come out of his mouth is, “What the hell, why weren't we teammates in high school?”

“Because we didn't go to the same school,” Akaashi replies, deadpan.

“True,” Bokuto says, but not even the feeling of having missed such a great opportunity is enough to darken his mood, bright enough to rival the sun because Akaashi's here playing volleyball with him and his tosses are _amazing_ and Bokuto definitely likes this more than he likes watching spy movies. He doesn't even get into his dejected mode when his serve doesn't make it past the net, too distracted watching the way Akaashi pulls on his leg to stretch, the flex of his muscles. They lose the match and Bokuto doesn't care about that either.

Afterwards, he and Akaashi buy some ice cream (strawberry for Akaashi; chocolate and banana for Bokuto) and he finds himself blurting out, “I like hanging out with you. We should do it more often. We should do it a lot.”

Several people have told him that he needs to think his words before actually speaking them and try to give them some order and coherency and maybe apply a filter or two, but it's the first time Bokuto feels self-conscious about it, swallowing hard as Akaashi looks down at his ice cream and doesn't say anything for a full minute.

“Me too,” Akaashi replies at last, honest and straight foward like only he can be, and Bokuto accidentally drops his cone. Akaashi buys him a new one.

 

 

  

 

 

 

Soon enough Kuroo finally starts dating Kenma and he also starts spending even less time in his own place, opting to stay the night at his boyfriend's, forming some sort of chain where Bokuto gets to stay most nights in Kuroo's place since Kuroo gets to stay in Kenma's because his roommate Hinata stays at some kid named Kageyama's whose flatmate Sugawara stays at Daichi's. It makes Bokuto feel part of something like a gay brotherhood.

It's nice, even if Bokuto can't really justify paying rent for his own apartment when he's barely there. Akaashi cooks dinner for two and they watch two episodes of CSI: Miami before moving to the couch and switching to CSI: Las Vegas (Bokuto likes that one better). He always ends up lying down with his head on Akaashi's lap, steady fingers carding through his hair because Bokuto is not seventeen anymore and those ridiculous -and awesome- horns had to go at some point. Akaashi never says a word about it, merely watches his procedural drama, though sometimes he'll tell Bokuto who he thinks the killer is. He almost always gets it right.

“You're so gay,” Kuroo tells him with the biggest smirk one night, one of the rare ones when he's spending the night in his own place, when he catches Bokuto resting his chin on his hand and following Akaashi's every move as he cooks.

“Only for you, honey bun,” Bokuto replies automatically, making kissy noises but still not tearing his gaze away from Akaashi, who's now frowning at his pan like it's offended him deeply. It's sort of adorable. Bokuto sighs.

“Gross.”

Several hours later when Bokuto is back at his own place for the first time in weeks, he gets a phonecall from Kuroo who tells him he forgot his toothbrush at his place, sounding like he's dead inside.

 

 

 

  

 

  

Falling in love with Akaashi is easy, because he makes it so. He's comfortable enough around Bokuto to finally speak more than five words a day, and Bokuto collects things he knows about this guy like butterflies in jars: he gets cold ridiculously easy, he chews on his nails when something is bothering him, he's allergic to dogs which is the saddest thing Bokuto has heard in his life. There are things that he doesn't have to dig to find out, too, things that are out there for him to notice immediately: that Akaashi is _beautiful_ , attractive in a lanky, tall way with his cool glance and sure hands; that every time they touch, intentionally or accidentally, Bokuto's stomach feels full of owls and he has to drink something cold to keep from sweating.

He wants to hold hands with Akaashi, and kiss him and maybe (definitely) sleep in the same bed as him with Akaashi in his arms, but Akaashi is not the touchy-feely kind of person apart from the head-on-lap-fingers-in-hair thing and Bokuto doesn't quite know what to make of the way Akaashi responds to him. Sometimes Bokuto is sure he's Akaashi's only true friend, that not even Kuroo knows that Akaashi owns thirteen different scarves and there's a tiny scar on the underside of his jaw from when he was a kid and he fell while holding scissors, and some other times he thinks Akaashi is the kind of person whose highest relationship point is tolerating someone enough to allow them to watch tv with him. Bokuto is fine with either, because Kuroo is right when he says he has it _bad,_ and as long as Akaashi keeps wanting to hang out with him, Bokuto is going to keep it up and maybe allow himself to hope a little.

Of course he has to fuck it up and blurt out, while the killer in today's episode is being arrested, “Hey, hey, Akaashi, you're really, really awesome and I like you a lot, you know?”

Later, he'll blame it on Akaashi looking so gorgeous in the oversized sweater he borrowed from Bokuto and shorts that expose the pale skin of his thighs.

Right now, Bokuto's eyes open wide and his mouth hangs open as he realises that he just confessed to his best friend's flatmate who is not watching his show anymore, instead turning to look at Bokuto with a stunned look on his face that kills any hope Bokuto could gather about maybe laughing it off as yeah, liking him as a friend and all, Akaashi, I'm definitely not head over heels for you and your owl slippers.

Bokuto dives out of that couch and runs.

 

 

  

 

 

 

He looks so miserable as he buys his new toothbrush that the cashier, a pretty girl chewing gum, asks him if he's alright. Bokuto nods and heads home, and he has to make a conscious effort to remember that he's going to his place, not Kuroo's, even though he hasn't been there in three days (his mother would yell at him for hours if she knew Bokuto hasn't brushed his teeth since that Tuesday night).

Three days turn into one week, one week into two, and Bokuto ignores Kuroo's phonecalls because he's too busy drowning in self-pity and his dejected mode to want to hear Kuroo tell him that Akaashi wants to return his sweater and his video games. Part of him wants to pick up and ask Kuroo is Akaashi hates him, if he thinks Bokuto is some kind of creep for spending so much time in his place when he's been crushing on Akaashi for so long, but fear and rejection freeze him and he realises, as he stares at his phone, that he doesn't even have Akaashi's number to apologise like a coward through a text. Bokuto's life sucks and he misses Akaashi's tosses and his slippers and his extravagant dishes for dinner so much that he feels like listening to those sad love songs about broken hearts and pretty boys way out of his league.

“Akaashi's been asking about you,” Kuroo tells him when Bokuto finally gathers the courage to pick up one of his phonecalls on the third week. His voice makes something in Bokuto's stomach feel heavy and guilty because in his desperation to isolate himself from Akaashi and the inevitable rejection, he's also pushed Kuroo away, and that's kind of asshole-ish, to be honest. “Asshole,” Kuroo adds, reading Bokuto's mind, but he doesn't sound like he means it. “Just talk to him. He keeps forgetting he doesn't have to cook for two anymore and our fridge is overflowing. Help.”

“I thought you didn't want me to fuck him,” Bokuto replies, trying to ignore the fact that he's as close to fucking Akaashi as he is to solving mysterious murders in Las Vegas.

“Well, it's not fair that I'm the only one who gets laid. Now, seriously, get your shit together. He's still wearing your sweater and it's kind of horrible to see.”

“What?” Bokuto straightens up. “Wait, is he... sad?” Hope blooms in his chest.

“Calm down, it's Akaashi,” Kuroo tells him. “He doesn't do sad.” There's a pause, and Kuroo sighs at the other end of the line. “But I guess he misses you. I don't know, I'm not a fuckin' matchmaker, you come here and solve your own shit. And bring a new toothbrush because I threw the old one out.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes Bokuto another day and a half to gather the courage to follow Kuroo's advice. He grabs his toothbrush, the beanie he was wearing the day Akaashi knocked him out for assaulting his fridge, and gets on his way, except that he doesn't even make it past the door because when he opens it Akaashi is standing right there, a scarf covering his mouth and his arm awkwardly hanging mid-air like he was just about to knock. He lowers it slowly while Bokuto stares.

“I got tired of waiting, I asked Kenma where you live,” Akaashi explains, lowering his scarf. “Kuroo-san didn't want to tell me, I think he's a firm believer of letting you sort your own things out at your own pace.” Akaashi looks down, pensive. “He's a good friend.”

“He is,” Bokuto agrees, breathless. “So uh, wanna come in?”

“Sure.”

He's not carrying Bokuto's sweater or video games to return them to him, which he takes as a good sign.

It's surreal, Akaashi in his place. Bokuto nearly laughs when he thinks about how ridiculous it sounds, falling in love with someone you haven't exchanged phone numbers with, that hasn't ever been in your own apartment, even though you have spent nearly every night of the last six months together. Honestly, Bokuto is pretty okay with being in love with someone who cooks the best burgers in the world and smiles proudly when Bokuto scores a point from one of his tosses.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, calm and collected but his face has a healthier look than the usual pale, cheeks reddening, “I thought it was common for people to wait for the other person's response after they confess.”

Bokuto splutters.

“Shit, Akaashi – well, I, I thought... you know, you and the...” And his head is such a mess that pieces and traces of information are flying everywhere with no real coherence, “my toothbrush...”

Akaashi frowns at him in clear confusion, but he doesn't ask about it. “Bokuto-san,” he repeats, low and purposeful, “Kuroo-san is spending the night at Kenma's tonight. I'm making pasta. Come over.”

“Okay,” Bokuto says, blinking in surprise. “Okay.”

His lips are parted and Akaashi's fit nicely against them when he crosses the distance between them and kisses him straight on the mouth, quick and dry. Now he's definitely blushing as he pulls away, and maybe Bokuto is too. He licks his lips and smiles.

“Uh. Akaashi, do that again.”

“We will,” Akaashi assures him. “Let's go.”

He grabs Bokuto's hand, pulling, and Bokuto follows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi does, indeed, do that again that night. And again. And again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> trips and a thousand pics of bokuaka fall out of my pockets


End file.
